


Pink Triangle

by Courageous_Castiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Historical, Holocaust, M/M, Pink Triangle, World War Two
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-26 13:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3852070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Courageous_Castiel/pseuds/Courageous_Castiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1934. <br/>Germany. <br/>Castiel has been in Dachau, a Nazi work camp, for over a year. The pink triangle overlapping the yellow one marks him as a homosexual Jew. He doesn't belong anywhere, he's an abomination. Even though the new green-eyed man has a pink triangle on his chest, even though he stops Castiel's heart with how beautiful he is, Castiel can't afford emotions anymore.<br/>Dachau isn't the place to fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seventy-Three

It was rare that Castiel Abramov caught sight of another prisoner with a pink triangle. In Dachau, there were mostly political prisoners, those who were threats to Nazi ideology. Castiel was one of th e first in the concentration camp, being filed inside in 1933, the first year of operation. 

His first crime, the easy to identify, was that he was Jewish.

Many in the camp that were simply criminals or political enemies of Hitler asked him why it wouldn’t have been easy to just deny his religion. 

Castiel always had to resist the urge to punch the inmates who asked that question.

Yeah, it would have been nice to just run away and not end up in some work camp, but it was difficult to escape when he had a Jewish last name and the family history to prove he was Jewish. It wasn’t just something he could deny, because the Nazis and their brutal SS officers could trace back his lineage. 

However, Castiel had two crimes. His second crime was that he was a homosexual. 

According to the Nazis, he was an abomination. Actually, according to the entire world, he was a disgrace, mentally ill. The entire world didn’t send homosexuals to die, though. Only the Nazis were that distasteful.

His striped uniform was always itchy. Not only was the fabric itchy, but the knowledge that he had a yellow triangle under an upside down pink triangle right over his heart scratched at the back of his mind. It was an itch he couldn’t make disappear. How was he supposed to scratch a nervousness in his head? He couldn’t. Not only did the Nazis hate him for being a gay Jew, but the other inmates despised him, as well. The Jewish inmates would have helped him and watched out for him like they did for the other Jews, except for the fact that he was a gay abomination. The political prisoners might have pitied him for being a Jew, but the majority still blamed the Jewish race for Germany’s plights, therefore political prisoners were out of the question. Mentally ill patients might have helped, but they were always dragged away for experimentation; they never lasted long. Lastly, the gay inmates could have helped; they were always the kindest. Though, Castiel Abramov was still Jewish, so they wouldn’t have helped either.

And Castiel wasn’t planning on converting. Besides the fact that it was too late to get baptized as a Catholic, he just didn’t want to. He valued his faith, he practiced it as much as he could. He prayed in the silence of the night where only the occasional gunshot or sobbing could be heard in the quiet, German air that reeked of cremation and sickness. He was proud to be Jewish. That part of his identity was undeniable.

More and more, though, Castiel wondered if the Nazis were right about his homosexuality being a crime. After all, believers of his faith called it a sin. Sodomy was nothing to partake in if he wanted to go to Heaven. But, then, how did they explain how God could ever deny such an ardent believer a spot in Heaven just because of something as small as his sexuality? He followed the Ten Commandments. He prayed as often as possible. So, what was he doing wrong? He was starting to think that maybe that pink triangle on his chest was the real crime, here, and the Nazis were right by trying to kill him off.

There weren’t a lot of homosexuals in the camps, from what Castiel could tell. It was the beginning years of the massacres, so maybe they just hadn’t dragged the homosexuals out into the open just yet. Still, Castiel would have liked to see more people like him. There were plenty of Jews at Dachau. There was a decent amount of semi-kind homosexuals in the beginning, but most of them were dead soon enough. Castiel was smarter than them, though. 

While it was dangerous to be a smart, gay Jew, it had kept him alive so far. If he could just play stupid in front of the officers when necessary, he figured he’d survive. 

At least, he had a decent job. He helped out the doctors in the hospital. He had been on the road to medical degree when the Nazis came to power, so he was capable of most things, just not surgeries. That helped him stay alive.

On December 13th of 1934, they were all called in to line up for roll call. Apparently, there was a new shipment coming in of prisoners, so the Nazis wanted to make sure no one was planning on escaping with the train as it’d leave after dropping the new prisoners off.

Castiel guessed maybe seventy prisoners would be coming in. He made a bet with Balthazar, a fellow Jew who worked in the hospital. Balthazar guessed one hundred and fifty, Castiel only thought there’d be seventy. The bet was a meal. Castiel really didn’t want to lose a meal, but he was feeling pretty hopeful about winning Balthazar’s dinner.

After roll call, he counted the prisoners coming off the train. 

Sixty-nine.

Seventy. 

Seventy-one.

Seventy-two.

Seventy-th-

Oh.

Prisoner number seventy-three had a pink triangle. Castiel hadn’t seen another homosexual in a long time, and it was a surprise that he actually found another one like him. 

Seventy-Three was attractive, too. Green eyes, messy hair, and a simple pink triangle on his uniform. No yellow triangle under it, though, so maybe not exactly like Castiel. Close enough, though.

Pain struck Castiel’s heart. Why did they have to send such a beautiful person to a Dachau? It was a pity.

It was also a pity that Castiel’s heart was so hardened. He was afraid of feeling again, so he shook off the pity and interest in favor of admitting defeat to Balthazar as the number turned out to be one hundred and thirty.

It really was a pity that Castiel selfishly had to suppress compassion when the children were taken away, most likely being thrown back on the train to be sent to another camp to be killed. 

More than anything, it was a pity that Castiel didn’t want to run out there and help when the elderly were beaten for being unfit to serve the Nazi state.

Above that, even, was that, even though Castiel found the green eyed Seventy-Three beautiful, young (probably twenty-five?), and not deserving of the inevitable fate of the concentration camps, Castiel knew he’d rather see him die than himself.

It had only been a year in the camp, and Castiel already had changed.


	2. ארוחת ערב

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Castiel lost his dinner, he gained companionship in Seventy-Three.

Balthazar won the bet, in the end. According to him, there were one-hundred and thirty new prisoners.

The issue was, though, that Castiel hadn't been paying enough attention to even correct him if he was wrong. Begrudgingly, he gave up his rights to a dinner to the Jew grinning like an absolute idiot. Castiel would have punched him, if it hadn't been Balthazar. Balthazar who took a beating for Castiel on the first day they arrived. Balthazar who, regardless of whether he cheated Castiel out of a meal or two every once in a while, always would come to him if Castiel really needed him. Castiel managed to shrug off the lost bet, opting instead for filing out of the area once they were dismissed to work.

He liked his work in the hospital. He felt absolutely blessed to be given the opportunity to help those sick and dying in the infirmary. And, while most doctors were needed for more serious diagnoses or surgeries, Castiel wasn't able to do that. What he was able to do, however, was aid those who were beyond medical relief.

Those who had fallen ill were disregarded by the doctors. They filled the beds and reeked of sickness, filling most of the doctors with disgust.

Castiel wasn't disgusted by a few sick, sweet people. That's all they really were, after all: people. Letting them die without peace and comfort was just as bad as sending them to Dachau in the first place. Castiel would never be able to understand how those doctors could find it right to just let the ones beyond help die like that.

So, every time the doctors gave up on someone, Castiel would run to their bedside, gripping the hands of the elderly and kissing the foreheads of women that, despite their pregnancies, would never see their child.

Those with mental illness that hadn’t been taken away for experimentation, those suffering grief for already being the only remaining survivor of their families, those without anyone else to comfort them and sing softly to them while they drifted off into a sleep they’d never wake up from; those were the ones Castiel sought out.

That’s all he spent the rest of that day doing, floating from bedside to bedside, administering doses of medication to ease pains that would never truly disappear. He had been so busy with tending to those in need of emotional and temporary physical comfort that he hardly even paid any attention to when the doctors began filing out to get meals for those who were sick, as well as for themselves.

It was an elderly woman that gently touched Castiel’s cheek with a kind, weak smile that reminded him that it was dinner time. Castiel kissed her forehead and squeezed her frail hand lightly, promising that he would bring more bread for her somehow. Promising safety and peace that was impossible to truly get in a Hell like Dachau. The promises always eased the patients, however. Perhaps it was their weak states that had them clinging to any possible form of comfort, even if it was truly impossible. People will settle for weak promises when they know strong promises cannot be fulfilled. Castiel’s weak promise managed to get the elderly woman to close her eyes for a long, deserved nap. Castiel gently kissed her hand and then exited the building, walking out to the main part of camp.

Balthazar, that selfish bastard, was waiting.

“Cassy,” he greeted with a grin. “I think you owe me a meal, right? Go on. I’m famished.” His voice oozed with a victorious smugness. Castiel couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Balthazar, I don’t think you deserve to claim that you’re famished. Look around you,” Castiel explained with a wide gesture of his arms, eyes never leaving Balthazar’s, though. “We are better off than most everyone else here. Don’t you dare start saying you’re famished.”

Balthazar only laughed. What else was he to do? There was no other option except crying or dying; laughing was a much better option for everyone in Dachau.

“My God, Castiel,” Balthazar continued teasing, following the other as they walked towards the food line. “You’re so serious all the time. You need to relax. You really want to die like this? Stressed and unhappy? Don’t give the Nazis that pleasure.”

“Don’t take God’s name in vain,” Castiel responded simply, rolling his eyes as they filed into line, shuffling along with the prisoners.

“I didn’t!” Balthazar indignantly replied, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he glanced around. “I should have stayed in London. I never should have come to Germany,” he went on to say. “I’m a bloody idiot.”

“Yes, you are,” Castiel agreed, minutely smiling as Balthazar lightly shoved him.

“Whatever, Castiel,” he responded as they received their meals. Castiel promptly handed him his bowl of light, bland broth.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Castiel said quietly, sighing softly as he glanced around. “Can I at least have that piece of bread of yours?”

Balthazar gave no verbal response, already shoving the other piece of bread in his mouth as he allowed Castiel to take the piece of bread requested. Then, he was off, walking towards another group of his own friends.

Castiel didn’t know them. He didn’t know many people in the camp.

Castiel turned, intending to walk back to the hospital to give the piece of bread to the old lady he had been tending to.

He was knocked to the ground, however, by Seventy-Three.

Letting out an ‘oof’ as he fell right onto his ass, Castiel looked up with a lit fire in his eyes, ready to defend himself against whoever ran into him. When his eyes locked with those beautiful green eyes, though, he couldn’t bring himself to do so. When Seventy-Three offered a hand to help him up, Castiel did not take it. He pushed himself off the ground and brushed the dirt off his uniform.

“I know you are new here,” Castiel said with an annoyed sigh, glancing up into those green eyes again and feeling like an idiot as his heart fluttered, “but, you really need to learn to watch where you’re going. Run into the wrong person, and you’ll be accused of a crime and handed to the officers.”

Seventy-Three only smiled in response. “Thank you,” he responded honestly. “I.. I haven’t been in a camp before. Only a ghetto. This is definitely different.”

Castiel smiled, though there was no real glee in the expression.

“Different? Definitely. When I was in a ghetto, I didn’t think anything could get worse. I was wrong. Here… Here, people die every day. It’s for no reason, either. If an officer even has problems with a whore they paid for that didn’t do the job well enough, they’ll take it out on us.”

Seventy-Three let out the most melodious laugh Castiel had ever heard.

“Sounds just like Heaven, then, yes?” Seventy-Three questioned rhetorically, before reaching out a hand for a handshake. “Dean. My name is Dean Winchester.”

Castiel stared at the hand for a few long moments before reaching out to accept the handshake. “My name is Castiel. Now, I need to go. I was heading to the hospital-”

“I’ll come eat in there.”

Castiel’s eyes widened in surprise, almost coughing at how surprising that response was. “Excuse me? It wasn’t an invitation, Dean.”

“I am positive that the hospital is a public place. I have a right to go there.”

Castiel was silent, eyes narrowing slightly in distrust, before nodding slowly. “Correct. You have a right to go there. You do not, however, have any other rights considering the circumstances of this camp. And, for the record, Dean, I don’t believe you have the right to bother me when I don’t need to be bothered. Just stay out of my way in there, and I’ll refrain from physically attacking you.”

Dean’s cocky smile was enough to make Castiel blush. So, to hide it, Castiel walked straight past Dean and continued on his path to the hospital.

He had the bread for the woman, Sarah.

He also, apparently, had a shadow named Dean Winchester.

He didn’t turn around to check to see if Dean was still there. He could hear the footsteps.

The pace of their steps were in sync, but Castiel was certain that his heart was beating three times as fast as Dean’s was.

How could he have gotten himself into this? Castiel knew this was a recipe for disaster.

Befriending people was enough pain. The things he could have with Dean, the first homosexual he'd spoke to in a while, could be monumental. Dean obviously didn't want to leave him alone, and Cas, despite protest, couldn't help but be intrugued by him. But, getting close to him? Achieving all of that just to inevitably lose him?

  
That would kill him. So, he'd just have to push himself further away. That was his only option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title, which is in Hebrew, translates to 'evening meal' or 'dinner' in English.


	3. God Will Save Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this took so long. I've had a rather hectic time and life's kind of suffocating me.   
> This chapter isn't good, but I wanted to at least post something.  
> I'll try and post more often in the future.

Dean was surprisingly persistent. 

How could he not feel the need to persist when there was a literal angel walking in front of him? Yes, an angel in the uniform of a concentration camp prisoner. Yes, an angel in living Hell. Regardless, Castiel practically glistened in the light of the day. 

Dean might’ve called him handsome, but he knew Castiel would feel more inclined to shove him away if he were to vocalize that thought out loud. It was obvious that he wasn’t interested in hearing compliments. 

Honestly, Castiel didn’t seem interested in anything regarding Dean. Dean found that quite funny, because, seriously, shouldn’t he want a friend to go through Hell with? 

Granted, Dean didn’t exactly want to be Castiel’s friend. I mean, he could tell by the pink triangle that this Jew was gay. Regardless of religious differences (or, for Dean. lack of religion entirely) Dean felt entranced by this black-haired, skinny angel that he found in Dachau. 

Castiel, on the other hand, wanted to be left alone, thank you very much. 

He couldn’t exactly wrap his brain around the fact that Dean seemed incredibly stupid, unable to take the hints that walking quickly away from someone meant that they did not want to be around that said someone. When he walked into the hospital, he made a beeline for the older woman, sitting down quietly in the chair next to the bed while breaking off a piece of the softer part of the bread and holding it out. “Time for a light dinner,” he said gently while he brushed some worn hair out of her face to gently help coax her back into the land of awareness and Nazis. 

Something told him no one slept without Nazis in their dreams, however.

Castiel definitely didn’t get through any night without an Aryan poster-child in his dreams, shouting words of hate and blame. 

Yeah, the Nazis managed to bring Hell into their dreams as well. They were just that fan-fucking-tastic. 

“You are a kind man, Castiel,” the woman said softly. 

Hell, Castiel couldn’t even remember her name, then. Not with Dean staring at them. He was uncomfortable, but he didn’t let his gaze wander away from the elder. 

“Hush,” he said gently. “I only do what I know God would want me to do. I try my best, but this is a trying time.” As the woman softly nibbled on the bread while holding the piece in her shaking fingers, Castiel filled the silence with more conversation from his side; it was better than silence at the time. Silence meant waiting; waiting meant death by Nazis. That’s what every prisoner was waiting for, after all.

Before he could speak, however, something else was filling the silence.

Dean.

“My God, you are beautiful,” Dean said from where he stood by the foot of the meager bed. “And to have such a kind doctor.. You are blessed.” 

The woman smiled wider than Castiel had seen her smile in her entire time in the hospital. 

“He is very kind,” she replied. “Kind and smart, too. He is not a full doctor, you know. He is only-”

“No,” Castiel cut her off with a sigh as he pressed the rest of the soft bread into her arthritic hands. “I was studying to be a doctor. Not anymore.”

The woman smiled sadly after finishing her bread. “God will save us,” she said with the confidence of Joan of Arc on the stake. “He will not forsake us.”

Castiel wanted to cry. He wanted to break down and tell her that her hope was false, because she wasn’t going to wake up again. She was going to die, and she was not going to be saved by God. She was going to die in a disgusting hospital in a disgusting camp run by disgusting people, and Castiel was going to deliver the final blow that would kill her. He wanted to cry; either that, or he wanted to throw up.

“God will save us,” he repeated as a whisper, as he kissed her forehead. “Rest. Find peace.”

It was necessary. Better to die in your sleep than be shot by the Nazis. The new shipments meant that there was less room for anyone sick or injured in the hospital. The lost-causes had to be eradicated. 

The woman was not going to heal.

Castiel sat with her, holding her hand and gently massaging the top of it with his thumb, looking down at where young skin met shriveled skin.

“Dean, say nothing,” he warned softly, before letting go of the hand and turning to equipment on the bedside table. The needle was filled with liquid to euthanize the patient. A painless death. Quiet, peaceful.

Dean obediently stayed silent; he seemed to understand what was happening. 

With a tear falling down his cheek, Castiel injected the liquid into the elder’s arm, before sterilizing the equipment and packing it all away. He would get Balthazar to do the rest that were lost-causes. Castiel didn’t feel like he would be able to do much more regarding that kind of euthanasia for the rest of the day. He’d rather comfort the new arrivals.

“God will save us,” he repeated with a shake of his head and a mournful sigh. “We are already in Hell. God.. I doubt God is here.”

Dean did not reply.


End file.
